


That Perfect Spot

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [36]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: She’d get back to missing her boyfriend once she spent some time on this story and finished up this report on issues in Bosnia for the CPJ. She settled in the library, ready to lose herself in the stack of notes, when the phone rang. Only two people called at this hour - unless it was Miles - and she cursed the universe for telling Avery she didn’t go on assignments like that anymore.





	That Perfect Spot

**Title:** That Perfect Spot  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Series:** Come Rain, Come Shine  
**Pairing:** Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt  
**Rating:** A for Adult Things Happening Here  
**Timeframe:** Latter half of season 7  
**A/N:** This is pure fluffy smut for smut’s sake. Also, I again will make a note for how up and down Avery’s communication skills seem with canon. It’s really hard to know where he is at in any given moment of the series.  
**Disclaimer:** Nope. I don’t make a dime from this. I wish I did. But it’s all Diane English and Warner Bros and well, I’ll just keep hoping.

 **Summary:** She’d get back to missing her boyfriend once she spent some time on this story and finished up this report on issues in Bosnia for the CPJ. She settled in the library, ready to lose herself in the stack of notes, when the phone rang. Only two people called at this hour - unless it was Miles - and she cursed the universe for telling Avery she didn’t go on assignments like that anymore.

_…. moving down from that spot right at your ear, where you dab your perfume. It smells of you and whatever scent you use that drives me crazy … moving into that spot alongside your neck, oh I could stay there forever._

_But if I stay there forever, I’ll miss moving down your chest, bringing your nipple in between my lips, grazing the bud with my teeth. I’ll miss how your hand tangles in my hair and how you tug, just a bit, when I bite down._

“Mommy!”

Groaning under her breath, Murphy slipped the latest letter from Peter back under her pillow and rolled to her side, finding her footing as she rose from bed. At least she didn’t need to wash her hands before going to check on Avery, as was more than likely to happen lately. Peter’s vivid letters were almost enough to keep the demons at bay as the nights between his trips home stretched on.She was hardly pining for him, but she lied to everyone when she said she was fine with how everything was. She wasn’t fine. She missed how he smiled at her, and held the door open as they moved through the world together. She missed how he played with Avery and challenged her stories over dinner. And god, she missed how he brought her right to life in bed. How his calloused hands parted her thighs, how his ever-present whiskers scraped along her soft flesh, how he would slide his fingers through her folds, their eyes locked while his thumb moved on her, pressing against her.

His letters only brought her back to those moments, over and over again, and there were nights when really, the last thing she wanted to do was slide from the fantasy of Peter returning to her side and focus on the reality of her son. At least tonight he’d interrupted her before her own hand was busy.

“Hey, buddy,” she smiled as she came into the nursery. Avery had climbed out of bed and was pulling toys out of the basket. Of all the traits he could have inherited from her, it had to be her innate insomnia that shone through. “What’s got you up?”

“Bad dream,” he pouted. Under all the toys was the small, stuffed dolphin that Peter had brought the last time he was in town. They’d gone to the aquarium and Avery couldn’t find a mermaid, so he’d asked for the Dolphin instead. Murphy furrowed her brow and knelt down next to Avery, who was cuddling the dolphin.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She stroked his cheek, suspecting already what was running through her little boy’s mind. Thoughts and concepts that all the books said he’d be wrestling with right about now.

“Miss Peter,” he murmured. “Wan him home.”

Murphy sighed and tugged Avery up into her arms. They settled on the rocking chair together and she kissed his hair and cursed the universe for making Peter so damn perfect in so many ways because when this blew up, if it blew up, it wasn’t going to just be her that suffered. Avery was already so attached. “Well, right now, Peter is off doing his job. He’s telling stories to the whole wide world.”

“Like Mommy?”

“Yep, like Mommy. But Mommy is lucky because she gets to stay closer to home more often. I used to do my job like Peter did.”

“Really?” He looked at her, wide eyed.

“Yeah, I went all over the world. I went to a country called Vietnam and another one called China. And Afghanistan. And Kenya. I went everywhere. And then, your Uncle Jim, he helped get me onto the news with him and Uncle Frank. Uncle Frank, he got a lot of the really dangerous and scary assignments. But see, back then, and this is back waaaayy back when your mommy was really young, women didn’t go on assignment like Peter and Frank do. But I did. I went whenever my boss would let me.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Well, see, sweetheart. I got older and sometimes, you just want to focus on other things. And also, I found out that you were coming and that changed some things for me. I decided I didn’t want to go to those really scary places anymore.”

Avery thought about that and Murphy let him work it out in his head. “Bud, why does Peter go?”

Murphy sighed and stroked his hair. “Well, see, Peter tried really hard to stay home more. But he and your dad, they both know that there are so many stories to report on all over the world and he has to go be there and do that.”

“I wish Peter was my dad,” he said, his eyes wide with all the honesty of his 4-year-old self.

Murphy choked on air. “What, honey?”

“I wish Peter was my real dad. Peter plays with me and he gets me from school and he hugs me and dat’s what daddys do.”

Tears pricked Murphy’s eyes. Yeah, she needed to nip this in the bud and soon before Avery was so attached she couldn’t walk away. But he was at that age where he started to notice how many of his friends had fathers and he didn’t. But now, now he had Peter to get him from school sometimes. There were times when she cursed Jake. Not so much for leaving, but for not being there for Avery. It really hadn’t been until Peter entered her life that she realized how angry she was at both Jake and really, Jerry. Jake had promised to care about her, and care about Avery, and his idea of caring was to send postcards from his latest campaign. Jerry’s “I’m not going anywhere” had yes, partly been interrupted by the move back to LA by the network, but whenever he was out of sight, she was out of mind. She knew that. And it had taken a long time to accept that. Peter proved that long distance was possible, and he made the time between visits pass (almost) seamlessly. He too sent postcards for Avery, but they were personal, and he always asked to talk when he found the space to call. She hadn’t heard from Jake since before Avery had been born and Jerry’s last phone call had been over a year ago. Why the hell was she waiting around for those two idiots when she had her damn fantasy right in front of her eyes.

“You know, something, honey,” Murphy said, still rocking them both, “There are times I wish the same thing.” She sighed, warring with herself because a part of her wanted to tell her son not to tell Peter that she’d said that, because she didn’t want to scare him off, but she and Peter were also honest with each other. And the truth was, he was far more of a father than she ever expected him to be and he had been since day one.

They stayed there, rocking quietly, until Avery’s little hand was clenched in her shirt and he was sucking his thumb. Gently, Murphy moved him back to his bed and tiptoed out, pausing to look back. It didn’t escape her that even in this dim light, Avery looked far more like Peter than Jake.

No. She couldn’t go there. Not right now. Not yet, anyway. The Dater needed to stay back in her tight little corner and not screw anything up.

Her mood for Peter’s letter delayed by Avery’s bad dream, Murphy wandered downstairs for a cup of tea and her notes. She’d get back to missing her boyfriend once she spent some time on this story and finished up this report on issues in Bosnia for the CPJ. She settled in the library, ready to lose herself in the stack of notes, when the phone rang. Only two people called at this hour - unless it was Miles - and she cursed the universe for telling Avery she didn’t go on assignments like that anymore.

It wasn’t Miles.

“I’m so sorry if I woke you but I have a room to myself and a phone that actually dials …”

“Where are you?” She breathed, sinking into the leather of the couch. Not three weeks ago, he’d met her eyes as she sank onto this couch, her legs falling open for him. He’d knelt, tugging the stockings she was wearing from the garter belt holding them up, before kissing his way up her inner thighs. She’d come, hard, riding his face while his tongue had reminded her that the human mouth was designed for far more pleasures than talking. Her hand moved up her thigh, drawing lazy patterns.

“I’m actually in this little town in the south of Spain. We needed to get out, so we found a safe spot to regroup.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He chuckled. She sighed. “You’ll see the story soon.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she groaned. “Peter …”

“Shut up and tell me what you’re wearing.”

“What, no talk?”

“Murphy, it’s been three weeks since I heard your voice and right now, all I can think about is you in that silver dress and how it slides off your shoulder. And you between my knees in the library as you …”

“I’m in the library right now.” She could hear him groan. “What are you doing?” She asked. She knew full well. She could see him in her mind’s eye, slowly unzipping his jeans.

“What do you want me to be doing, Murphy?”

Her hand continued its trek on her thighs, missing him. “I want you to be sliding your hands up under my shirt.”

“What are you wearing?”

“My blue pj’s, with that white t-shirt you like.” Her hand was on her breast. “I got your last letter, Peter.” Her fingers twisted around her nipple and she groaned.

“You mean where I talk about how much I love your breasts? Your nipples?”

“I’ve got one between my fingers right now, Peter,” she murmured.

“Play with it,” he groaned. “Like I describe it …” She complied, tweaking the peak between her nails. “How I love it when you arch up as I bite down …”

“Peter …” she moaned.

“You know my favorite part of your breasts?”

She could see him, slowly stroking himself, running his thumb over the tip of his cock. Once, she’d gone to pick him up for a date and he’d still been in the shower and she’d stood, watching through the frosted glass of his shower while he stroked himself. He’d known she was there and performed for her, and she’d stayed, perfectly still, until he stepped out of the water, still hard. The time for their dinner reservation had flown past while he’d slid her skirt up her hips, pulled her soaking wet panties down her legs, and pushed two thick fingers into her.

“Did you like what you saw?” He’d taunted, his thumb on her clit. She’d responded by wrapping her hand around him and stroking until he was threatening Gods with destruction. The dry cleaner hadn’t quite been able to get the stain off the silk, but she hadn’t cared. That day in his bathroom had been more than worth the price of that skirt.

“What?” She asked, shifting her hips, pressing the phone closer to her ear, as if it would bring him closer to her.

“That spot on the underside that is so soft … it always sends goosebumps down your stomach when I stroke there.”

She shivered. “Peter …”

“How wet are you?”

God, he was good. He knew when she wanted sweet and playful and vanilla and when to be just demanding enough that her body responded instantly.

“I was reading your letter …” she chuckled. “How wet do you think I am?” He groaned. She turned the tables. “What do you want me to be doing, Peter?”

“I want you riding me,” his voice was barely a moan. “Like when I come to your office and you hike your skirt up …” another groan … “and you come with my tongue in your mouth and my cock inside of you and fuck … Murphy … fuck. I miss you.”

She pressed her finger against her clit, arching her hips toward the contact she craved. A gasp escaped her and she heard Peter’s sharp intake of breath, knew he was stroking himself slowly. He loved to meet her eyes, challenge her as she approached.

“Where are your fingers?” He asked, breathless.

“Where I want your mouth,” she taunted. She was so close.

“Let me hear you come.”

She pressed her thumb against her clit and slid two fingers into the edge of her body, gasping as she finally pushed herself over the edge. “Fuck … Peter …” she whimpered as she held herself in the moment, her body clenching back before completely releasing. God, she wanted him here.

His groan told her he was there with her and she closed her eyes, imagining him there on top of her, gasping, his weight barely lifted off her chest. When they were both spent, he loved to pull her into his arms and hold her close while they reclaimed their breath.

“When are you home again?” She whispered.

“Not soon enough,” came his tired response. He took a breath.

“You know that image you have?” She asked, slowly dragging her drying fingers up her body. “Of us in the office, me riding you?”

“Yeah …”

“You’ll be home soon enough … and I fully intend to collect on this fantasy all over again.”

“Murphy?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and don’t ever let anyone know about this side of you.”

She barked out a laugh and finally sat up, her body pushing through the last rush of hormones. “I’m smarter than that.” She wiped her fingers on her t-shirt and stretched. She needed to change now. “I’m a mess.”

“Me too.” She could tell he was grinning.

“You waste all that money for a ten minute quickie,” she teased.

“Best money I’ve spent in a while,” he taunted back. “Seriously, how are you and the kid?”

“He misses you almost as much as I do, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty attached too.”

They were quiet for a moment, the reality that Peter needed to hang up starting to weigh down the ease of the conversation.

“I’ll be home in a couple weeks,” he murmured. “And there’s another letter on the way.”

She sighed. “I love you …” the words still so rarely spoken over the phone felt strange when he wasn’t in the room. But she meant them, and wanted him in her arms right now.

“You too.” His voice was soft. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye …”

“Bye.”

She clicked the phone off and tossed it to the couch beside her. This was where she threw her tantrum, where she went for the ice cream and pouted her way through an episode of mindless TV. Missing Peter was easy when he was out of touch. But when she could reach through the phone, when his voice was almost hot on her ear, it hurt more. This was what she worried about with long distance.

Still.

She loved him. She was in love with him. It was such a strange feeling to process.

Ice cream right from the cartoon soothed her loneliness. Murphy grabbed a spoon and headed back to the library, her eyes lingering on the couch and the abandoned phone. But her desk called to her.

He’d be home soon. Until then, she had work to do.


End file.
